


Lamb

by oceanward



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Age Difference, BAMF Women, Bad Decisions, Canon-Typical Violence, Cunnilingus, F/F, Lesbian Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 19:18:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13417917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceanward/pseuds/oceanward
Summary: When the vault girl stumbles into Goodneighbor half-dead, Fahrenheit writes her off - girls like that don't last, not in the Commonwealth.Naturally, it's a bit of a shock when she turns up again a few weeks laterin Hancock's Strongroom, with power armour, a modified baseball bat, and a terrible attitude.





	Lamb

Fahrenheit couldn’t place her, not immediately

The poor sap, wearing rusted to shit power armour, covered in blood and dirt. Where a head piece should be was a matted mane of blonde, crammed under a mining helmet. Blue eyes peered over green cloth, masking the rest of her face. The intruder’s eyes triggered something, sure, but they looked hard and cold, not familiar at all. Just another merc, throwing their lot in with the wrong asshole.

Bobbi, on the other hand, was easy to spot – her hair slightly out of place, clothing caked in mud, but otherwise, seemingly unrattled. Fahrenheit considered just shooting her now – there was no doubt whose master plan this was, and Fahrenheit wasn’t one to forgive a slight of loyalty as large as this.

There were two guys hanging back, one familiar and one not. Fahrenheit paid them no mind; they were followers here, letting their leaders control the situation. What she knew of MacCready fit this – anything for caps, sure, but not about to put his own neck on the line.

Trying to keep her cool, Fahrenheit decided to talk first, leaning against a column, pleased that the thugs she’d dragged along kept their guns steady. Bobbi’s calm façade shifted quickly – clearly she’d been hoping this would go straight to bloody. When Fahrenheit looked at the armoured one again, their eyes met, this time blue eyes widened in recognition – and surprise.

“Helen, look,” Bobbi began, turning to her accomplice, voice placating.

Clanking and hissing followed, and Fahrenheit had to hold up her hand to stop the others from shooting on reflex. The power armour split, and out the back came a girl – fragile looking in her oversized leathers, but stiff with anger. One hand pulled down the rag covering her face, and the other grabbed the bat strapped to the armour, and it was Fahrenheit’s turn to be surprised.

Delicate features, unscarred and pale, perfect teeth grinding under her sneer – this was the vault girl from a couple of weeks back. Fahrenheit remembered the way she looked when she’d stumbled through the Goodneighbor gates, clutching her hip (gunshot, probably a .38) and bleeding profusely from her calf (bite, mongrel most likely). The girl was maybe 20, fresh-faced and afraid. Her vault suit was bright against the backdrop of the city, and the vultures began to swoop.

Seeing Hancock stab Finn didn’t surprise Fahrenheit – the mayor loved his dramatics, and had complained about Finn’s bullshit for weeks. What surprised Fahrenheit is the way he dropped the knife after, posture going slack as he turned to the newcomer, welcoming and unthreatening. Fahrenheit had smiled fondly, just for a moment.

The vault lamb didn’t look comforted – her eyes flickered between the body on the street, to Hancock, and back again. Fahrenheit half expected the girl to flee the way she came, but she didn’t. Perhaps, Fahrenheit thought, looking at the way the girl’s hands gripped the out of shape tire iron, she’d been running for long enough. The sack of supplies, tied loosely across her body, looked basically empty. Finn had been wasting his time with this one.

More than anything, though, Fahrenheit was impressed. How did a girl like that make it to Goodneighbor, mostly in one piece? She looked thin enough to snap under a strong breeze. Perhaps the supers let her be, not worth the meal to catch. Bags under the girl’s eyes spoke of sleepless nights, weeks on the streets; dehydration and radiation clear in the way she shook, just trying to stay upright.

Yeah, the vault girl had done well to make it this far, but it wouldn’t be long before the Commonweath chewed her up, Fahrenheit had thought at the time. Weeks passed, and so did sightings of that particular jumpsuit.

Seeing the girl again, basically frothing at the mouth as she turned on Bobbi, showed that Fahrenheit has underestimated the girl. Perhaps Hancock has seen something in her that day? Something that Fahrenheit had missed? Troubling thought.

“What the fuck is going on, Bobbi?”

The girl, Helen supposedly, looked wild – teeth gnashing as she confronted her ‘boss’, spiked bat held tightly in one hand. Bobbi did her best to hold her ground against it, voice low and rough as always. The truth came quickly then – Bobbi had lied to her crew, class act, to get them to come here.

The way that Helen ramped up the aggression was, frankly, a little impressive. Honestly, Fahrenheit was starting to like the girl. Hopefully they wouldn’t have to shoot her.

“Counter offer,” Fahrenheit interrupted their ranting, eyes locking with the Helen’s again, “Turn around and leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Bobbi said, raising an eyebrow at her crew, “There’s still a big score to be made here.”

Helen’s face was still the picture of rage, but the other two merely looked unconvinced. MacCready’s eyes were already scoping the area for goods. Figures, Fahrenheit huff out a breath. Her fingers tightened around the thick handle of her minigun.

Helen turned to look at MacCready, who slumped a little, but nodded quickly, raising his gun.

A fight, then. Fahrenheit could admit she was disappointed. A girl like that… Well, Fahrenheit understood Hancock’s interest now, that’s for sure. She pushed off of the column, and moved to lift her own gun.

“Bobbi, you’ve fucked us. You know what this means.” Helen said, raising her spiked bat.

“What?” Bobbi voice cracked for the first time, as she took a step back “This –“

There was sickening crack as the girl’s bat smacked Bobbi across the face. One of the triggermen took a half step back, but no one else moved as Bobbi’s body slumped to the floor.

The vault girl pulled her bat off the corpse with both hands, shaking blood and flesh off of the spikes, and turned back to look up at Fahrenheit, face blank.

In the background, one of Bobbi’s crew turned to leave the way he’d arrived. Unfortunately, they still heard him when he began retching in the basement. Even MacCready looked a little pale. Fahrenheit was mostly impressed – Helen was skinny, sure, but she had quite the arm.

“Happy?” Helen said, piercing the quiet. She dropped her bat with a loud clang, the twitchy triggerman to Fahrenheit’s left squeaking at the noise.

The girl crossed her arms over her chest, and flicked her eyes at MacCready, who quickly slung his rifle over his shoulder. A clear surrender, Fahrenheit noted with a fair dose of pleasure.

 “You made the right choice.” Fahrenheit pointed out. Snapping out of her staring contest with the Vault girl, she turned to head down the stairs.

The girl had wandered over, and was standing off to the side of the stairs. Helen’s eyes raked her body, leaving Fahrenheit feeling oddly exposed. This girl still seemed to want something from her.

Stopped in front of the girl, Fahrenheit dropped her weapon carefully – it was her favourite, laced with fuel to really make things exciting. “Take it.”

“What?” Helen raised an eyebrow.

“I’m giving you the gun.”

“Why?”

“Just take it.” Fahrenheit snapped, suddenly unsure herself.

“All yours, Mac.” Helen huffed, gesturing to her hired help, who shuffled forward to lug the thing. “No offence, Fahrenheit, but I’m not much of a gun user.”

Fahrenheit narrowed her eyes at the use of her name, “What do you want, then?”

“Caps, booze, a fucking shower...” Helen trailed off and raised an eyebrow, “Anything else you’re offering?”

There was a beat of uncomfortable silence, where Fahrenheit’s throat felt too dry and tight. Oh.

“Hancock will want to talk to you.” Fahrenheit shifted her feet a little, suddenly feeling off balance. Was she blushing? She didn’t blush. “Come by the Old State House after you’ve cleaned up.”

Helen nodded, dismissing herself from the conversation, and turned to MacCready, who was in the process of strapping the minigun to his back. The two of them made quite the pair, like rabid, underfed dogs. Scrawny, but strong and violent.

Fahrenheit wouldn’t mind heading back herself, but there was work to do. There was a hole in the basement of Hancock’s storehouse, and that kinda security weakness couldn’t wait until morning. She turned and started gesturing to the thugs to follow her.

\---

Fahrenheit was exhausted by the time she made it back to the State House. It had taken a few hours to block off the tunnels, and frankly she was looking forward to some jet and a nap. Unfortunately, as she climbed the stairs, she heard Hancock entertaining, and a feminine laugh answering him. She was hoping for a quick report to the boss, but if he was looking to get laid, he’d want to brag a little first.

Fahrenheit – Hancock’s muscle, second in command, and wingman. What a lot in life.

It spoke to how tired she was that Fahrenheit was actually surprised when she opened the door to find Helen there, curled into Hancock’s side with a bottle of whiskey cradled to her chest, laughing breathlessly. Something unpleasant curled in Fahrenheit’s stomach, but she smirked anyway, and cleared her throat.

“Fahr,” Hancock purred, “Come on in, take a seat.”

The ghoul was grinning, feet propped up on the table in front of him. He had a open box of fancy lads in one hand, and his hat in the other. For one of the most dangerous men in the commonwealth, Hancock was a complete dork.

“I won’t stay long,” She responded, approaching the couch, “The strongroom is secure again.”

“No thanks to this one, apparently,” Hancock said, nudging the girl to his side, who was still struggling to reign in her laughter.

“Yeah, she’s a riot,” Fahrenheit said, voice deadpan, “You have fun with that one.”

Hancock’s grin widened further, the bastard. Fahrenheit grabbed a canister of jet off the table as hazard pay, before leaving the room. The door swung closed behind her, and she rolled her shoulders back, glad the night was finally over.

It was testament to how tired she was that she hadn’t noticed she’d been followed until a hand grabbed her arm.

Helen’s blue eyes were bloodshot, but unmistakably pretty. Something turned in Fahrenheit’s belly that had nothing to do with jealousy. She was uncomfortable, but she refused to break eye contact first.

Fahrenheit was struck by how different they were. Despite Helen’s clear preference for close combat, her skin was clear and smooth, and her leather armour did nothing to hide how fragile she looked. Fahrenheit was a tall woman, older by a decade, her skin rough with scars to show for it.

One of guards cleared his throat pointedly, and but Fahrenheit ignored him, raising an eyebrow at the girl in front of her. “What do you want?”

Helen smiled, dropping her hand, and said nothing - not that she needed to. The way she raked her eyes down Fahrenheit’s body was telling enough.

 --

Fahrenheit’s room was small, but there was a decently sized mattress on the floor, and the door had a lock. The wall barely creaked as she pressed Helen into it, hands sliding down her sides.

Helen kissed like she was fighting, rough and desperate, pushing for dominance. Fahrenheit smiled into it – the girl had so much bravado, a fire in her, and tonight it was Fahrenheit’s to share. Helen was strong liquor and cigarettes, white teeth and chapped lips. She was perfect.

They shed their armour in pieces, Fahrenheit’s battered metal and Helen’s thick leather, hands desperate for the skin they covered. Fahrenheit pulled the girl back into a kiss, blonde hair soft and strong, and Helen’s breath came quicker. Soft hands, barely callused, skimmed under Fahrenheit’s undershirt.

Helen pulled back and looked at Fahrenheit with a challenge in her eyes. The older woman swallowed hard, pulled her back close.

Their legs tangled as they lay together, bare bodies prickling with sweat against the mattress. Helen’s body was muscle and smooth planes, a little thin but strong and tough. Fahrenheit mouthed her neck, and brought a hand to cup one of her breasts. Helen made aborted noises, hushed and half formed, like she was embarrassed of her pleasure. Fahrenheit pushed her down on the mattress, and mouthed further down her chest.

Fahrenheit didn’t get many chances to be like this, to take her time exploring a girl – her usual encounters were hurried, with women who knew how to ask for what they wanted. Fahrenheit closed her lips over Helen’s clit, and the girl almost shouted, surprise and pleasure causing her to jerk away. Fahrenheit pulled her by the hips, taking control, pressing with the flat of her tongue. The girl groaned, voice sending vibrations through them both.

Fahrenheit closed her eyes, and her world became warmth and the sound of Helen breaking apart. The older woman dug her fingers into the meat of the girl’s hips and licked into her. The taste on Fahrenheit’s tongue was enough to make her own body heat up. Helen’s walls were crumbling, and crashing came a litany of cursing and variations on Fahrenheit’s name.

Fahrenheit shifted, using one of her fingers to slip inside, and was pleased to feel Helen’s body tense, shaking out in climax. The girl thrashed, thigh’s locking around Fahrenheit’s head. She broke. Fahrenheit eased her down, and licked her softly, before pushing back.

Helen’s face was flushed prettily, her hair wilder than ever. Her breasts rose and fell quickly with her breath. Her face split into a grin.

Fahrenheit was reminded of the girl’s nature when Helen surged upwards. She pushed Fahrenheit’s shoulders back into the mattress, knocking the breath out of her. A challenging look in her eyes, familiar enough at that point. It wasn’t in Fahrenheit to give up easy, however.

Lips pressed, sticky with the other girl’s release, and Fahrenheit ground against the thigh which had so kindly been provided for her. Helen tugged Fahrenheit’s lip between her teeth, before pulling back and sliding a hand between their bodies.

Two fingers slipped inside Fahrenheit and pressed up. Helen’s smile was sharp, and she pumped her fingers slowly, the sudden friction sending lightening through Fahrenheit’s body. Fahrenheit fell back against the mattress and her breath caught. Helen’s other hand brushed over one of Fahrenheit’s nipples, then scratched down her side.

Helen sat up, knelt between her thighs and grinning wickedly, and looked like a pin-up model, straight out of one of Hancock’s magazines.

Fahrenheit let her head fall back, cried out, and gave over to the girl. She never had a chance.

\---

The snow is thick falling, and with the cold weather, drifters came pouring into town. Hancock had made some kind of arrangement with some of the farming settlements, so they have a bit of extra food to share around, but overcrowding is a problem. With overcrowding comes fighting, and fighting is Fahrenheit’s problem.

It’s a time of change in the Commonwealth, with the institute is more active than ever and the Brotherhood are rubbing their faces into everyone’s business. Winter is usually a time of quiet – everyone is too cold to do much of anything, so people tend to lay low until the snow melts. This year seems to be a little different. Everyone is going fucking nuts.

And personally, it’s been a weird few months for Fahrenheit.

She keeps her ear to the street, as usual, with her watch notifying her when anything of note happens. They tell her when trouble arrives. They’re especially careful to tell her when a particularly well-known brand of trouble arrives, one with blonde hair and a lack of respect for authority.

She’s different now. She’s not as scrawny, and has a lot more scars. She still runs with MacCready, but she has a whole range of other back up now, ones that she doesn’t even have to pay. She helps people, normal everyday people. She kills a whole heap more. People talk about her in hushed tones in The Rail, and Fahrenheit tries not to listen.

Fahrenheit’s never been in love before, and she’s not even sure that’s what this is. Obsession, maybe. She’s not alone either – the whole Commonwealth seems to be talking about this girl, who’s travelled through time, who’s been killing raiders and mutants pretty much every other damn thing around.

But when Helen does roll through Goodneighbour, she stays for a few days. Fahrenheit feeds her up. They sleep. They fuck. They talk. They fuck some more. Then, Helen leaves again to go off and help and kill and remake the Commonwealth.

Sometimes she stumbles back barely alive, and it’s like that first time Fahrenheit saw her, a small girl chewed up by the world. Those times make Fahrenheit want to hate her for being so reckless, for letting all these causes wrap her up, for fighting so many losing fights.

Other times, Helen practically struts in, wearing navy combat armour, sunglasses, and a wicked grin. Times which make Fahrenheit want to strip her naked. Those times are the most common.

Nights like this, when the snow is heavy and the wind is cold, and Helen pushes through the crowd and under Fahrenheit’s arm. These are the times that Fahrenheit waits for.

And in a couple of days, when Helen starts to stir and clips her armour back into place, she’ll ask if Fahrenheit wants to join her; she’ll ask if Fahrenheit wants to get out of the city and see the Castle, Sanctuary, the edge of the glowing sea.

Maybe someday soon, she’ll say yes.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why I wrote this but I'm just going to leave it here.
> 
> I've never written anything explicit before. So. Room for improvement! ..


End file.
